As the Ink Dries
by gilgameshforeternity
Summary: Altair/Malik, rated M for some assassin lovin'


Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.....if i did, they would've done it in that cave and on Al Mualims desk.... and everywhere in between lol.

(A/N) so this little story has been sitting in my Ipod for the past like 3 months lol. Ever since I started and got half way through the game I was like, could the people make these guys any more slashable? lol so yea, here's some Altair/Malik for ya peeps, enjooooy!

* * *

The pungent smell of the streets below was nothing new to Altair as he hopped the short distance between roofs. Stone crunched under his leather boots and his eyes easily spotted the familiar, open air, wood ceiling of the Assassin's Bureau in Jerusalem. Wandering vines that crawled up from the room were an inviting and relaxing detail for any assassin, the beautiful, fertile green against the harsh stone that looked buttery in the sun. He walked deafly to the opening in the ceiling, staring down at the carpets and pillows below. The ride to the city was less than pleasing, knowning he would have to face the man he mortaly scarred. Siletly he dropped to the edge and then onto the floor. Slinking up against the wall he heard nothing from the adjacent room. Sliding up against the wall he pressed into it, the stone was rough on his calloused fingers.

"Come Altair, you hide like a scared child." Altair narrowed his eyes, Malik no doubt enjoyed provoking him. Pushing away from the wall he entered the room with as much grace as a shadow would dancing in the night.

"What a pleasent surprise," Malik mused aloud, as he turned to the half inked map in front of him, taking the bush in his right hand once again.

"Al Mualim has sent me-"

"Yes I know, to weed out any more troubles the people may have."

Altair hovered near the door to the shop room, he hated how smug Malik seemed, even if the man didn't outrightly show it. Even with his missing arm, Malik still held himself in high regard, the air of an assassin never leaving or diminishing around him. Altair stared for a while longer, watching with expert eyes how Malik carefully painted the parchment in front of him. He looked none the worse for wear, his hair still short and dark, his eyes sharp and trained. Those dark eyes snapped to his suddenly and Altair felt his breath catch a moment in  
his throat.

Clearing it he spoke, "What have you heard Malik?"

Those piecring eyes still watched him, observed him, "It has been quite so far, but I am sure if you wander the streets you can keep the guards in check," Malik informed him.

"Have you anything else to tell me?" Altair urged a little, there had to be someone he could assasinate.

"I have nothing else for you. You may rest here if you like, start your mission tomorrow."

Altair did not reply this time, merely left the room as he had entered it. Walking to the other end of the resting room, Altair took the time to pull off his adornments, the leather was always tight against his chest. Laying the items down he joined them on the padded floor, resting on some pillows against the wall he crossed his legs, resting his hands in his lap.

It wasn't often an assassin took the time to sit and just rest. Usually they were quick to sleep and quick to rise, never at their liesure. But now, as Altair stared at his hands, he dared to let his thoughts stray from his mission. Closing his eyes he calmed his heart and breathing. He listened to the streets outside, people talking, moving and simply just being. He let himself sink into the false security of sleep.

* * *

Altair wasn't one to miss his internal clock waking him up, but the next time he woke, cool air had setteled in the bureau and the moon was high in the sky, flooding its light into the room, sending shadows everywhere. The next thing he relalized, he was on his side, clutching the pillow under his head tightly as if he had, had a bad dream he couldn't remember. Rubbing his eyes he sat up, adjustig his twisted surcoat and peering around into the darkness, soft sighs gave insight that Malik had joined him in the rest room, he was a foot or two away from him, on his back amongst the plush pillows. Pushing up onto his feet he crouched over next to the decommissioned assassin to stare down at his sleeping form. Truthfully, now that more time had passed, and the embrace of death had welcomed him, he regretted his actions that day long ago. His gaze slid to the man's missing arm and something twisted in his gut, something foreign. Standing up abruptly he turned to climb quickly out of the room, he needed fresher air then what was in that room.

Making haste he headed for the nearest viewing tower and climbed its stone walls with practiced ease. The eagle that had been circling the tower was perched at the highest point, sleeping, till Altair made his prescene known by climbing onto the out jutting wood. Hefting himself up he settled into a comfortable crouch. The air seemed richer up there than down in the streets, where it merely stagnated and mixed with the breath of greedy merchants and decietful guards.

Running a hand through his choppy black hair he couldn't help but need some kind of self imposed isolation from the man he ultimately doomed to a life of tending to a shop front. Letting his brown eyes travel over the city of Jerusalem, he could only wonder if Malik still harboured hatred toward him. Sure, many a time he had professed his lack of interest for what his brothers might think of him, hearing from the other bureas of their whispers and rumours. Though not one of them had he taken a loved one, not one had he cost them their arm or position in the clan. His arrogant mistake had fallen upon Malik in a harsher way than expected.

Sighing heavily, the expert assassin found himself delving too deeply into feeling and personal matters. Rubbing at his eyes and stroking the scar on his lips he edged near the end of the wooden outcropping. Taking a breath he examined the dark streets below and spotted the golden stack of hay, so precariously placed. Placing his arms out he leaned forward and pushed off hard, feeling his body become weightless for a moment. Twisting his body around he heard the pounding of his heart in his ears as he began to fall. He opened his eyes to see the stars just out of reach and steadily growing further away. Till suddenly the shock of falling and hitting the stack of hay sent shockwaves through the assassin's already accstomed body. His nerves were barely phased and in a moment Altair was up and out of the golden grass.

Taking to the empty streets, Altair pulled his hood up out of habit. There wasn't really much to see, for everyone had turned in for the night, he almost wished for the bustling crowds and distressed citizens, then maybe he could take his mind off of Malik. Altair's mindless wandering continued on long into the cool Jerusalem night and into the misty morning. It was when the frst rays of the sun peaked over the city wall, Altair knew it would useless to search till noon, when the crowds were bigger and more information would be traveling. Dashing up from another cart of hay he grabbed onto the ledge of a window, using the trim around it he scaled up to the next trim and then up to the roof. Looking to the entrance of the city he immediatly knew which way to travel.

His arrival at the bureau was a quite one, just like it always had been. Gripping the wood ceiling he got ready to swing down, his eyes taking in the room, they immediatly spotted Malik. The man was near the fountian, using a wash cloth to clean his upper body. Altair sat at the edge of the opening for awhile, his eyes examining Malik's arm, dozens of scars on his back, like his own.

"Are you going to stare all day?" Malik asked.

Altair gripped the wood, keeping his silence he dropped to the carpets and then to lean against the wall. He didn't deny he was watching and wondering. Did his arm ever hurt? Did he have nightmares of that day? Would Malik ever forgive him?

"Malik," Altair paused to listen for some clue the man wasn't ignoring him.

"What?" Malik pulled on his shirt and black robe. He turned to glare at the assassin.

Altair breathed quietly, "Nevermind. Would you impart some knowledge upon me, as to where-"

"Altair," Malik interuppted. " I have told you what I know for now, and until I make my rounds in the city, I have nothig else," with that, Malik left the room.

Altair stared at the doorway, though the man had left, the tensing in his shoulders hadn't eased. There was no telling how badly Malik wanted to flay him alive, but Altair could guess.  
Grimacing, Altair moved from where he had been standing to the shop room, the moment he entered, he could almost feel the air get heavier at his persistance.

"Malik, I want to....," he hesitated to look the assassin in the eye, "I...I'm sorry." Altair had barely gotten the words out before turning abruptly to leave the stifiling place. He practically flung himself from the bureau and out into the city. Thrusting himself to the streets he got lost in the morning hurry of vendors opening up shops and people starting to appear. He looked even more like a scholar without his sword and short sword, he ultimately felt lighter, and yet at the same time, vulnerable. He knew himself to be capable of defending and expertly using his hidden blade, but his sword at least provided him some distance between himself and the guards. Though he did not intend to stir up a fuss as he wandered the awakening streets, he did notice the increase of idle troops around the market area. Altrair could already tell the day was going to be a long one.

* * *

There was no telling how long Altair would stay away in the market and surrouding areas, but when darkness began to fall and vendors were closing up, he needed a safe place to shelter in for the night. Thus his return to the bureau was, albeit slow, a neccessary one. Hopping from shop roof to house roof, jumping through the occasional roof garden, he plucked something on his way out of one. He looked to his hand to see a bright red tomato. It wasn't his favorite food but he didn't mind eating it. Taking a bite, the juices flooded his mouth and the soft gritty texture of the vegetiable was mashed between his teeth. A light pink tongue came out to lap the liquid along his lips as he vaulted himself over a small gap and grabbed with one hand to hoist himself up from a low roof to the next that was relatviely taller. Grunting as his foot slipped, he gripped harder and tried to keep from falling. Narrowing his eyes, even through his leather glove he could feel the stone biting into the fingers of his left hand. Transferring his snack to his mouth, he swung his right hand up to grab the ledge. Though the second his slicked hand tried to grip the rough edge the substence acted against him, Altair had misinterpreted the amount of juices that had coated his hand, so the more he gripped, the more his hand slid to the edge. Spitting the tamato out he clenched his teeth and willed his trained body to hold tighter and pull himself up. When all 200 some pounds of muscle, clothes and leather were standing on the roof, Altair stared below to the depths that could have swallowed him. Looking to his hand, tomato jucie mixed with fresh cuts and scrapes that were bleeding lightly glistened in the moonlightly, staring a moment longer he pushed it aside and continued on.

By the time he reached the bureau his hand was throbbing, stinging and dripping with ignored blood and tomato juice. As an assassin it was easy for him to push the pain from his mind and focus on something more important, like the beginning need for sleep. As he reached the bureau his speed decreased and he strolled to the entrance, looking at the patchwork of moonlight on the ornate floor. Kneeling down he gripped the edge with his good hand and swung down, the leather and stone crunching against each other loudly. His leather boots tapped the wall gently before meeting the ground with a soft thud. On further inspection of the rest of the room, he found no Malik, only the faint glow of candle light flickering from the other room. Walking forward, a mix of black abyss and liquid silver, he moved through the shadows before slinking into the adjacent room, though his presence was no surprise to Malik.

The painter was currently working on a new map, but this one stretched along the whole of the counter, Altair floated forward, eyeing the large piece, it was everyhing from Masiaf to Jerusalem and the other cities stretched out and dipping off the edge of the counter.

"What-"

"Al Mualim sent word that a new bureau is opening in the next city over and they need a map."

Altair stood off to the side of the tall, glass and metal candle holder. The flame flicked and danced upon the wax, shedding light on the large parchment. The dark haired assassin was deathly quiet as he moved the black stained brush over charcol sketch, permanently placing cities and waypoints.

"Why don't they just-"

"Your hand?" Malik asked with a distracted tone.

Altair wasn't sure if he could stand much more of the one armed mans interrupting nature. But the coppery smell of fresh blood and the tangy scent of tomato juice filled the air as he lifted his hand to the candle light, it looked worse then it had in the shadows. Malik's head lifted and he raised an eyebrow, looking at the injured hand and then up to Altair. Their dark eyes met and Altair had the urge to hide his hand, as if the minimal injury were an immense weakness now that it had been noticed. Malik straightened up, placing the brush in the small inkwell.

"Come," Malik whispered as he ducked under the counter and came out from under the large parchment on the other side, holding a small pack of wrapped provisions.

Altair watched Malik walk over to the shadows, taking a seat at the small table, unrolling the pack. Gliding over, his leather boots barely sounding on the hard floor and deposited himself in the dark chair across from Malik. Silence was the third wheel as Altair meet Malik's eyes, the light from the candle flecking their faces with swirling shadows. There were no words as Malik grabbed some spare cloth from the display of tools. With a fluid movement, Altair's hand was palm up and laying like an offering to the man. Malik's eyes looked to the hand and started wiping the liquids away, Altair tried not to wince, but when flaps of skin were rubbed against and opened, it caused pain to spark up his arm. After maybe a minute Malik had removed the blood and dirt, leaving the hand bare and dotted with blood that was still trying to escapse. Bunching the used cloth up he pulled out a fresh one and wrapped it, Altair held the end of the bandage as Malik wrapped it tightly, there wasn't much they could do, ointments were best use for more serious wounds. Tying the bandage off Malik started to wrap the un-used items up.

"Thank you," Altair whispered, flexing his hand a little under the wrap.

"No worries."

"I'm sorry," Altair blurted once again, his eyes were slow to look up to Maliks face.

"For what?" Malik asked absently, picking the pack up.

"For your arm.... For your brother." It was done, he had gotten it out and suddenly that third wheel was back, silence was watching them, waiting for them.

"I..." Malik paused to look into Altair's murky eyes, "I forgave you a long time ago."

Altair was a little taken aback, so all his wondering and anxiousness was for nothing? All his tip toeing around had been useless. He opened his mouth to speak, but Malik stood, standing in front of the hooded assassin, interupting him.

"I can't stay mad when my heart has already been stolen by you." The soft sentence caught Altair off guard, as did what Malik did next.

The one armed assassin leaned down, and took Atair's breath away. Pressing his lips firmly against the comissioned assassin's lips he succeded in expellng all doubts of what he had said from Altair's mind. The young assassin was stock still for a moment before moving up and out of his seat. His hands came up to curl around Maliks shoulders and he pressed further into the kiss. It was like a switch in his brain telling him this was what he had been waiting for, some all encompassing sign that meant more words then could be described. The medical kit in Maliks hands dropped and his hand came up to brush back Altair's hood and curl his fingers through the short locks. Altair's own hands were working at Maliks robes, slowly directing the shop keeper to the resting room. Slowly but surely, the candle light faded and was replaced by pure moonlight as they made their way to the pillows and blankets.

Altair was pulled down by the hand on the back of his head and the lips that dared to part from his own. Maliks first robe was pulled and tossed to the pillows before he laid back and Altair kneeled above him. Maliks one hand deafly made it's expert way around Altair's assassin uniform, tugging in all the right places to loosen the surcoat from it's hold beneath the leather waist strap. Altair assisted in pulling the first of his clothing off, both surcoat and his hood, knowing all too well putting it all back on was a little hassel compared to what he was thinking of doing that partcular night.

He managed to get Maliks other robes off, leave the man in his simple pants and his chest bare. Altair was distracted for the briefest of moments when his eyes skimmed Maliks lost arm, there was barely a scar where the doctor had preformed the surgary so long ago. He could only imagine the kind of pain Malik went through to have the useless apendge removed. Maliks hand was busy with its own problem though, reaching around the assassin above him to loosen the straps that held the leather belt so tightly, Altair could feel him struggling and was going to help when Malik growled low at the action.

Altair raised an eyebrow, a smile edging at his scarred lips and instead he leaned down to kiss the stubborn assassin, feeling the wonderul sensation of their hips meeting and pleasure curled into their nerves and Malik moaned low as he finally pulled the belt away. Altair heard the item hit the carpet somewhere in the room and then the hasty tugging of the red fabric around his waist. The red tie was the next to go and finally Altair couldn't take it, he leaned up, removing his hands from the beautiful body beneath his to pull off the long robe of the assassin uniform, struggling a little at the hands though. His eyes flicked to Malik's when the laying assassin worked off the leather gloves and finally Altair was able to pull the heavy fabric off. Malik was not all surprised at how toned Altair's body was, but the amount of jagged scars along his stomach and chest were many. His hand slowly slid down the dark haired man's abdomen, feeling the white scars and thinking of the kinds of stories that might be attatched to every one of them. His fingers followed the thin trail of hair to the edge of the assassins pants and he tugged gently.

Their eyes were slow to meet, as if both silent chosing whether they wanted to continue, but it as obvious when Altair leaned forward slightly, he hands traveling back to start at the straps on his high boots. Malik knew there was no going back, this was going to happen and he wanted it. Aiding the assassin on top, he shuffled with his own pants, squirming slightly before shifting the item off as Altair pulled off his last boot and started at his thick brown pants. He was aroused, and the sight of Malik laid bare, waiting for him as simply erotic to the worn out man.

When they were completely naked, it was all or nothing. Altair was attacking Malik's mouth, hand pumping the mans erection, getting him hotter and hotter in the night air. He wasn't an expert on how male on male worked, but living in a bureau filled with nothing but men, he had heard his fair share of stories and the occasional walking into the wrong room at the wrong time. He felt Maliks hand slide up his arm and grip his shoulder, gently pushing him up.

"I don't have any oil to lubricate with." Altair was partially amused at the mans polite tone.

"What do you want me to use," Altair whispered, their bodies radiating heat in the night.

Malik was silent, his hand leaving Altair's shoulder, bringing it to his own mouth, their was a brief moment of waiting and then Altair was groaning as a slicked hand moved and slipped around his cock, creating suck delicous friction. His hips languidly followed Maliks pumps before they disappered and he was pressing forward to the assassin's entrance. When Altair first moved it was hesitant and unsure, but the encouraging groans from Malik and it pushed him into a rhythm they could both agree with.

There weren't many announcements in the clan about couples being both male, most of the men could barely hold onto a wife, for if their significant other was found out by the enemies, it was almost certaint the woman would be targeted. So in a testosterone filled headquarters, it was no wonder some men found their fancies intrigued by a more then playful partner or friend. Both Malik and Altair had heard the rumours float around the bureaus and neither had ever thought they might end up as one of those rumoured couples. But that fact was far from their reconciling minds, the kind of bond they were forging was one that goes deeper, farther and stronger then just a simple apology could do.

But if either worked up the curiosity and asked how easily their intimate situation came to fruition, it would be a simple description of past observations. Malik, taking the time to pass the training arena whenever Altair took to showing new trainees the basics. For Altair, watching the man as he wandered the depths of the headquarters library, catching his eyes as he talked to Al Mualim about missions to come. The signs had been there, subtle and yet outrightly showed. Now, it was all coming to the surface, as Altair's rhythm rocked from a pattern to frantic thrusts, both panting and groaning from the motions and feelings that Altair caused. It was a cleansing of the senses and of the mind.

Malik had his hand tightened in the pillows behind him, trying to press into the amazing thrusts Altair was delivering to him. The strong flex of muscles, hot breath that just barely clouded into the air and suddenly Malik was feeling like his body had become engulfed in euphoric flames and he was orgasiming with a loud moan. Altair was all too aware as the climax rushed through Malik's body and straight into his own, muscles clenched around him and suddenly he was at the peak, joining Malik in the audiable expression of delightful sensations.

The moon had reached the peak of its arc in the sky, directly shedding light on the two exauhsted assassins. It streammed down through the ceiling and layered their bodies in cool rays. Altair couldn't stop himself from panting, yes, that had been his first time with a man, but to him, it had been perfect. His eyes met Malik's and he leaned down to give the man a short kiss, pulling out with little effort, feeling Maliks hand draw a line up his stomach and to his chin, pulling him closer. Altair felt around blindly to find a blanket, his fingers hit soft fabric and he pulled it around their bodies. He didn't know what the morning would hold, but for now, he knew this was what and where he wanted to be.


End file.
